


viewfinder

by sunbrights



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Background Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbrights/pseuds/sunbrights
Summary: Even now, even with all this, Koizumi is still able to smile. For all her practicing, Peko is sure she’s learned nothing at all.





	

Koizumi has taken at least four photographs of her since they arrived on the island. One was a group photo, taken the first day; the other three were taken covertly, when she thought Peko wasn’t aware. (Peko cannot afford not to be aware.)

She does the same with the others, with similar frequency; most of them rarely notice, if ever. Peko allows it because she sees no reason not to, but she does consider the possibility of Koizumi having goals beyond a few candid photographs. 

(She brings this up to the young master, and he rolls his eyes.

“Koizumi’s a fucking goody-goody,” he says, feet kicked up on the edge of his desk. “She’s not worth worrying about. If it bugs you, tell her to knock it off. Otherwise, I don’t give a shit what she does.”)

The next time Koizumi takes a photo of her, Peko is out splitting coconuts on the beach. It starts out as just her, Mioda, and a handful of others, but once they start shouting about the quality of the coconut juice, it isn’t long before the rest of the class begins to file in. 

At one point Souda, Hinata, and Mioda hold six coconuts out in a line; Peko slices through all of them in a single swing, and hears the familiar _snap_ of Koizumi’s shutter behind her.

The others all whoop as the tops of the coconuts hit the sand. Koizumi rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling even as she steps back. When they start handing out the remaining shells, Peko brings one over to her.

“I was wondering,” she says, after Koizumi has taken the first sip of her juice, “would it be all right for me to see that photo?”

“The one I just took of you? Sure, if you want.” Koizumi pulls on the strap of her camera to swing it back up towards her. It looks unwieldy to hold in one hand, but she does it without much effort at all. “Don’t worry, you look really cool in it.”

The digital display of the camera is grainy and cluttered with functional symbols, but the most important parts of the image are clear. Peko discovers that she isn’t the subject of the photo, as she’d assumed— instead, she is the dynamic foreground to the actual subjects: Souda, Hinata, and Mioda, their hands held out and their faces lit up in varying degrees of awe, fear, and delight. The line of Peko’s shoulders and the draw of her blade act as a frame for the smiles of her classmates.

(Peko can also tell that her form is off: she’s holding her right shoulder too high, and it caused the cut in the final coconut to be uneven. It’s hardly Koizumi’s fault, but having such laziness immortalized will bother her for days.)

“What do you think?”

“It’s... surprising.”

“‘Surprising’?” Koizumi draws the word out. It’s the wrong one, going by the way her brows pinch together. She twists the camera back towards herself to squint at the display. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Peko struggles to elaborate. It’s difficult to find the words to describe something when she isn’t certain of what it is in the first place. “It could have simply captured the trick they asked me to perform,” she decides on, “but instead it captures the feelings of everyone involved.” She hesitates, then clarifies: “I like it.” 

Koizumi looks up at her, eyebrows lifting. “Yeah.” She smiles, and it’s easy and friendly. “Yeah, that’s it exactly, actually. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Peko says, even if she doesn’t understand what she has to be thanked for. Koizumi seems pleased regardless, and she leans over to show Peko the other photos she’d taken so far.

There’s no harm in letting her keep taking them, she decides.

*

They have lunch together, sometimes. Both she and Koizumi tend to eat earlier than the others, so the hotel restaurant is often empty; on the days when neither of them are away doing other things, they sit out on the balcony and Koizumi shows her the photos she’d taken that morning.

“You know, I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about,” Koizumi says one day, dimming a photo of Togami and his spread of breakfast from her camera’s display. She pulls a small, squat album out of her camera bag and lays it out on the table between them. “Here. These are all the pictures I’ve taken of you so far.”

By Peko’s tally, Koizumi has taken six photos of her: the four she’d already been aware of, the one of her slicing the coconuts, and an additional group photo since. 

In this album, there are eight.

“I feel like I must be getting something wrong,” Koizumi says. She leans her chin on one hand, and the puff of her sigh scatters her bangs. “No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get the right shot of you.”

Peko touches the edge of a photo of herself leaning on the hotel restaurant’s railing. She tries to remember when it possibly could have been taken. “I don’t understand.”

“Well… Okay, look at this one.” Koizumi taps her nail against one of the group shots on the page: all eight girls standing together, smudged with chocolate and flour. “You had fun that day, right? At least, I thought you did.”

“Yes,” Peko answers. She studies the photo, trying to understand the flaw. The form is excellent and the colors are bright; it’s everything one would expect from Koizumi’s talent. “I… enjoy baking, sometimes. It was a welcome distraction.”

“But you’re the only one not smiling in the picture.” Koizumi flips the pages of her album back and forth. “See? You’re not smiling in any of them. This one kind of comes close,” she touches an image of Peko sitting together with Tanaka and Mioda while the Four Dark Devas of Destruction explore a sand castle, “but I’m not sure it counts. You look happy, but you’re not really smiling.”

Oh. It’s about that. Peko closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It wasn’t my intention to ruin your photos.” If Koizumi’s goal is to capture moments of positivity in their circumstances, it makes sense that Peko wouldn’t fit into that vision. “If you’d rather I avoid being in them from now on, I understand.”

“What?” Peko feels Koizumi’s hand clasp around her wrist. When she opens her eyes, Koizumi has her other hand splayed out over the open page of the album. “No, no. That’s not what I’m saying at all, Peko-chan. I just thought... maybe there are other times when you’re having more fun, you know? Maybe I should take pictures of you then instead.” 

Even through Koizumi’s fingers, Peko can see how the photos of her don’t fit in well with the ones on the opposite page. There is a clear interruption in the theme of the collection. Looking again, she doesn’t know how she didn’t notice it the first time.

“It isn’t that,” she says. “Smiling can be… a challenge, for me. It may be more efficient for you to focus on the others.”

“Oh.” Koizumi’s forehead creases in what Peko assumes is a combination of sympathy and confusion. “Well, that’s okay. It’s not really about the smiles themselves, anyway. It’s more… whether or not you’re happy in the moment.” She smiles then, one that’s small and apologetic, and for a moment Peko can’t fathom it ever being that easy. “So don’t worry about it. Okay?”

Peko says, “I’ll try,” and means it.

She still thinks about it for the rest of the afternoon.

*

Koizumi takes fewer photos in the days after Hanamura’s execution. It’s understandable; there aren’t many causes for any of them to be smiling in that aftermath. She spends most of her mornings and afternoons out away from the others, but when Peko asks to see the photos, she declines. (“I’ve never been proud of my landscapes,” she admits. “It always feels like there’s something missing.”)

The next time she arrives at the hotel restaurant early enough for lunch, she’s the brightest Peko has seen her in days.

“Peko-chan! Look, I have a surprise for you.”

She slides onto the opposite bench and sets her lunch aside, an afterthought. “I was right, I think.” She unzips one of the outside pockets of her camera bag to produce a photo, newly printed. “I just needed to get the right shot of you.”

Peko doesn’t understand. She’d only been practicing with Hinata for a couple days, and his comedic timing leaves much to be desired. “Is that…?”

“It sure is.” Koizumi’s smile is proud and eager. “Here, see for yourself.”

She slides the photo across the table, and Peko draws it toward herself with the tip of her finger, careful not to smudge. 

It’s a picture of her from earlier that morning. Her, and the young master.

“What do you know, right? I was so worried he was going to ruin it.” Koizumi sets her chin in both hands, and Peko can see the way her smile flattens out sardonically. “But it turns out even Kuzuryuu can take a nice picture every now and then.”

It is a nice picture. The angle is high, and neither she nor the young master have noticed the camera; Koizumi must have taken it from the restaurant stairs. She vaguely remembers the moment: she’d passed him on her way out of the hotel, and had only paused to say good morning. She remembers him, half turned towards her with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders and his smile relaxed. In Koizumi’s photo, she smiles back.

His singular order from the very first day had been to maintain the illusion that they were only classmates. They look it, in this picture. He’d be satisfied with it, she thinks.

“Sorry,” Koizumi says, after a moment. Her voice is gentler, and when Peko looks up her brows have drawn together, concerned. Oh. She’d misinterpreted Peko’s silence as offense. “I didn’t mean to— just be careful, Peko-chan, okay? I know you’re trying to help him and all, but that guy is bad news. You shouldn’t get involved with him.” 

“He is… abrasive,” Peko allows. (She has rehearsed this answer in her head many times.) Koizumi’s brows disappear behind her bangs. “We shouldn’t let our guard down. But I think with time he might be open to cooperation.”

“Peko-chan.” Koizumi’s voice is still gentle, but has dropped low enough to not quite be called a whisper; it borderlines on conspiratorial. She chooses every word with careful deliberation. “This is the only picture I’ve been able to take of you smiling, even a little bit. Ever. Okay?”

Peko wills herself not to react, even as she feels her face and fingertips go cold. If she has in any way compromised—

“I’m not going to pretend I get it. Because I swear to every god there is, I don’t.” Her smile turns lopsided and embarrassed, and all at once Peko understands the sort of assumption she’s made. Her cold cheeks suddenly flush warm. “Seriously. That guy? Really?”

She has not rehearsed an answer for this.

Something in her expression must balk, because Koizumi holds both hands up, defensive. “No, it’s okay. I’m not going to ask, just—” She bites her lip, and Peko sees the way she rehearses her words in her head. “A guy like that, the kind of world he comes from? He’s not ever going to change. He’s too wrapped up in himself and his _image_ to bother. Maybe he’s not dangerous yet, but he’s definitely not worth your time. Or anybody else’s, for that matter.”

“We are in a dire situation,” Peko hears herself say. “Our only hope of success is through cooperation.”

Koizumi’s expression twists. “No, no. I know. You’re right.” She turns the photo on the table back toward her, and looks at that instead of at Peko. “But you have to admit, he’s not exactly falling over himself to cooperate with us, either.”

The young master wouldn’t disagree. Peko only shakes her head.

“I’m just saying, as a friend? You don’t need to bend over backwards to help someone who obviously doesn’t want it.” Koizumi picks the photo up by the corner, and is careful not to bend it when she puts it back in her bag. She zips the pocket closed with more force than she needs to. “Let him deal with his own problems.”

She is wrong, in more ways than she’ll ever understand.

*

That morning, the young master knocks on her door first.

The photos must have been taken in the heat of the moment, but their composition is still stark and harshly beautiful. The framing of Natsumi-sama’s blood-spattered corpse makes excellent use of the rule of thirds.

Peko says, “Koizumi,” before the young master has had a chance to say anything at all. 

When he throws the open envelope across the length of her cottage, the rest of the photos spill and scatter across her floor like fallen leaves.

*

Peko offers to be the one to deliver the message, but the young master insists he do it himself. She watches the mailbox instead, to ensure his message is heard and understood.

By noon, the mailbox is empty.

Koizumi doesn’t respond immediately. It’s understandable; if the young master doesn’t remember the incident, it’s unlikely she does, either. Peko watches for her anyway, and late in the afternoon, Koizumi sits on the deck of her cottage with the largest of her photo albums in her lap. 

Peko knows it to be the one with the final prints of her photos, after she’s had time to crop and color balance them. Her face is lined with concentration and stress, less like reminiscing and more like personal critique, but Peko has made enough threats in her lifetime to see the fear around every edge, in the shakiness of Koizumi’s muscles and the tightness of her mouth.

The message has both been heard and understood.

That confirmed, there is no reason for Peko to interact with her any further, now that she’s been identified as an enemy of the Kuzuryuu Clan. Clearly, Peko has made a grave error in underestimating her as a potential threat; any further mistakes would only exacerbate the damage.

However, since arriving on the island the young master has had only one, singular request.

Peko holds out her hand to get Koizumi’s attention.

“I wasn’t back in time for lunch today,” she explains. “Could I look at your photos with you now instead?”

Koizumi still smiles, even if it’s thin. “Yeah. Here, come sit with me.”

Ordinarily, Koizumi is happy enough to talk through her photographs while Peko observes, the whens and whats more than the hows and whys. (“My work needs to speak for itself,” Koizumi had said, the one time Peko had asked, “If I have to explain it, then I didn’t do my job right.”) Today they sit in silence while she pages through the album, one by one.

Many of these final prints are ones that Peko has yet to see. Owari and Nidai, bloodied and grinning, grasping each other’s forearms. Saionji with two packets of gummy bears flared out in front of her face like twin fans. Souda with a screwdriver in one hand and Nanami’s Gamegirl in the other, and Nanami sitting beside him, reaching for it with both hands. Hanamura in the hotel kitchen, flipping flapjacks in a pan while Mioda cheers in the background.

(There is exactly one picture of Koizumi herself, where she isn’t in a group. The photo isn’t candid, but she doesn’t look prepared, and the framing is sloppy. When Koizumi reaches it in the album, she’s quick to turn the page.)

“I know that it’s not the most groundbreaking subject matter ever,” Koizumi says eventually, “but that’s fine. People don’t need their lives to be groundbreaking, or dramatic, or- or tragic for there to be beauty in them. You know?”

She turns the page, and her fingers land on a photograph of Hinata caught mid-sentence, his mouth open too wide and his eyes halfway through blinking. It makes her smile, a real one that isn’t pained or forced. For that moment, the lines of stress and fear on her face smooth out into nothing. 

“Yes,” Peko answers. “I think so.”

*

Koizumi’s allotted time runs out. The young master is not inclined to give her more.

“I’ll go with you,” Peko tells him, when they’re alone.

“ _No._ ” He’s bent over his desk, which is neat and nearly empty now that Koizumi has the photographs. All that’s left are the letters he’s just written, folded and stacked and ready to set a plan in motion. He won’t look at her. “No. Your plans aren’t changing, okay? Go- go do your thing with the girls. I’ll be done before then anyway.”

That is not an option. She can’t agree, so she doesn’t. 

“I’m going to talk to her,” he goes on. His voice trembles under the weight of all his anger and anxiety. “And if that bitch has something to answer for, she’ll fucking answer for it. That’s the only thing I can do, right? That’s what Natsumi deserves.”

Peko hears it, the way his resolve doesn’t shore up the way he wants it to. There are fractures in his certainty of what he’s been taught, and every day they get a little wider; his heart is too big and beats too strongly for them not to. He struggles with it, but there is strength in struggle, not shame.

One of the remaining blank sheets of paper crumples under his left hand. He hears the fractures too, but they sound different to him than they do to her. 

There is so much weighing him down. 

She wants to take it away from him, or at least help him shoulder the burden. But Koizumi’s philosophies, Hinata’s advice and encouragement— all of it fails her in the moment, when it matters the most. She remembers when they were small and cold and lost in the mountains, how his face had pinched with fear and tears, how she’d failed him then, too.

She says, “Young master—” but he’s already standing.

“Don’t call me that. Just- go, all right? I don’t have a lot of time.” He tucks the letters into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ll talk when it’s done.”

*

Koizumi is pale that morning. It makes her concealer too dark against her skin, and when she lowers her head shadows still steal into the bags under her eyes. Her hands shake when she waves at Peko from across the pool.

“Morning, Peko-chan.” Koizumi breathes in deeply, for no reason Peko can see except to steady her voice. “You’re still going to the beach with everyone today, right?”

Peko nods.

“That’s good.” Koizumi nods, too. She keeps nodding, and looks down at her hands. “I’m glad. It sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun.”

“You won’t be coming with us?” 

Peko knows the answer. She asks the question anyway, because she must. Because as much as she feels for Koizumi’s position, the young master’s safety comes first, and his will comes second. There is no choice to be made.

“No. I’m sorry, I wish I could.” She is hugging her arms close to herself. Her fingers tighten around her elbows until the skin under her nails turns white. “I just... I have something I need to take care of. But you should go have fun, okay?”

“You’ll be missed,” Peko tells her. It isn’t a lie, except by omission, but she still feels like something has been wedged deep beneath her sternum. “We’ll take photos. For your record.”

“I’d like that. Thanks.” Even now, even with all this, Koizumi is still able to smile. For all her practicing, Peko is sure she’s learned nothing at all. “Have you seen Ibuki-chan anywhere?”

*

In the end, Koizumi never sees her approach. It’s a stroke of luck Peko doesn’t deserve, but the outcome would not have changed regardless. She will protect who she must protect. Kill who she must kill. If she can do nothing else, she can do that.

The young master reaches for his weapon, and she is there.


End file.
